What's in a Word?
by BurgundyHope
Summary: They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but one word can paint a thousand pictures. 30 one-shots from a list of word prompts that were matched to our beloved Harry Potter characters.
1. Beginning

Bill gazed down in wonder at the tiny bundle cradled in his arms, speechless at the sheer amount of joy and pride and _love_ he was feeling. It was by no means the first time he had held a baby – as the oldest of seven he had held his brothers and sister countless times when they were young. It was, however, the first time he had been able to hold, really hold, _his_ baby. His beautiful, perfect daughter. Victoire.

He had joked before she was born that she would have him wrapped around her little finger in no time at all because of her Veela blood. But now…. Bill would admit that he'd already fallen for her, left right and centre. However, he would protest the influence of her mother's blood. Victoire had captured his heart because she was _his_.

As Bill studied her sleeping face, finding Fleur instantly in her soft, white-blonde hair, perfectly shaped lips, and delicately formed nose, he reflected on all the "firsts" in his life. He was the first-born of his family, and, therefore, the first to attend Hogwarts and to graduate—beginning somewhat of a Weasley dynasty. Somewhat apart from something defined by birth order he was the first to get married; although, the terror surrounding the fall of the Ministry had somewhat dampened the joy of the occasion. It should have been a wonderful beginning for him and Fleur, and yet their married life had been born in war. And now he and Fleur were the first to have a child.

Bill suddenly felt inordinately smug and silently defied any of his siblings to try and have a baby as perfect as his surely was.

"What are you smiling at, mon cher?" a sleepy voice inquired tenderly from the hospital bed.

Bill looked up at Fleur, and the force of the love he felt for her hit him with such a shock that it stole his breath and tears welled in his eyes. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and answered thickly, "I don't think I've ever been this happy in my life." He paused a moment, taking one of her hands in his, gently rubbing the back of it with his thumb. "Thanks, love."

"She eez our new beginning, non?"

Bill smiled sweetly down at Victoire. "A new beginning."


	2. Accusation

Diagon Alley was deserted. Fred and George's shop was still a shining pinnacle that practically blinded anyone who dared to look at it – simultaneously repelling gazes and attracting souls desperate for some laughter like bees to honey – but Diagon Alley was deserted, there were no two ways about it.

Arthur stood outside the door to the joke shop, gazing soberly at the desolate store fronts around him. He was waiting for Molly to finish saying goodbye to the twins and wishing she would hurry so they could get home – a chill that wasn't from the December cold washed over him. Something moved in the corner of his eye, and he jerked his head to get a better look. Nothing. His nerves were wearing thin, memories of his attack the previous year doing nothing to reassure him. And they always plagued him when he least wanted them to. Of course.

"Alright, Arthur?" Molly asked hesitantly. Her hand was gently resting on his wand arm – he hadn't heard her leave the shop, and he hadn't realized he'd drawn his wand.

"Er…yes, Molly. I just –" he peered into the shadows in a doorway down the street. "I thought I saw someone." He turned and smiled brightly down at her worried expression. "No matter! It was nothing, I'm sure. Let's get home, shall we?"

Molly tucked herself close to his side, and Arthur covered her hand with his in the crook of his elbow as they set off down the street. Her hand was cold, and Arthur rubbed it briskly, trying to add some warmth. "Your hands are like ice, Mollywobbles," his voice was concerned, but he waited until she looked up at him and winked cheekily. They'd had precious little to joke about in the past year.

"Oh, are they? I hadn't noticed," she scoffed. They walked a few more feet. "And what do you propose to do about it, Mr. Weasley?"

The look she gave him then out of the corner of her eye turned his face scarlet, but he drew himself up bravely and – Arthur froze again, and his grip on Molly's arm jerked her to a stop. All levity was gone.

"Arthur?" she hissed, suddenly alert.

"Just there – over by Ollivander's."

They were standing apart now, wands at the ready. Arthur took a step forward and put himself slightly in front of Molly. It could have been a cat, for all he had _really_ seen, but he was not going to take any chances. The palms of his hands were getting sweaty, despite the low temperature outside, and he tightened his grip on his wand.

"I've not come to attack you," a voice softly called from the shadows. It was not loud, but carried a cool, hard edge of authority. It was followed out of the darkness by –

"Narcissa?" Arthur breathed, confused. In his peripheral vision he saw Molly lower her wand, and he followed suit – he still kept it out, ready, though.

At first glance, Narcissa presented the same proud, unaffected air that she'd had ever since Arthur saw her as a student at Hogwarts. The youngest, perhaps prettiest, daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black – of the most noble and ancient house of Black. Her head was held high; Arthur decided it had to be so she could look down her nose at people. A closer look, though, revealed just how much the imprisonment of Lucius had affected her. Her normally sleek, blonde hair had a slightly ruffled look to it, her long, navy blue robes were rumpled, and dark circles were painted under her cold, blue eyes. She looked her age for once – although that still wasn't saying much – and to put it simply, she looked quite…human.

The three stared for almost a full minute, shocked by the mere presence of each other. Arthur thought for a moment that the ordinariness of the scene was completely at odds with how a situation should unfold when one is faced with the enemy. They _were_ enemies, weren't they?

Finally, Narcissa appeared to struggle, uncharacteristically, for a moment before saying, "I was hoping to avoid this, but I'd rather not get hexed by a jumpy blood traitor either."

Arthur heard Molly take a deep breath beside him and broke in before she could get herself too worked up. "I wouldn't have hexed you, Narcissa, but you would do well to remember how your actions may be perceived these days."

She arched a fine, blonde eyebrow. "Perhaps I would not feel the need for such secrecy if my husband had not been unjustly thrown into Azkaban."

Arthur felt a grim, smoldering anger begin to build inside him as Narcissa continued to speak, and a heat burned in his face.

"He was only doing what was necessary to bring the _proper_ values back into wizarding society." Narcissa's tone was becoming more insistent, louder. "He should not be punished for trying to remedy the problems people like _you_ pose to society."

Her self-possessed demeanor was slipping, and Arthur was reaching his own breaking point. Molly must have felt similarly because she grabbed his hand abruptly, squeezing it painfully.

"_My family_ should not be punished!" Her eyes were wide and suddenly she was practically frantic, demanding to be understood, hands clenched. "You blood traitors and your _mudblood_ friends are destroying my family! If the blasted Order of the damned Phoenix had not shown up, those brats would not have been an obstacle and my –"

"MY CHILDR –"

"Those were MY CHILDREN!" Arthur roared, and a sudden, terrible silence filled the street.

"Those were MY children, and it was _your_ husband's fault, and your sister's fault, and _their_ fault that my children and their friends ended up IN HOSPITAL! You and I may have very different views on what is best for society, but MINE do NOT attack _children_!"

Narcissa took a step back, stunned, gaping at him.

"Narcissa," Molly's voice was rough with emotion, startling Arthur out of his haze of anger. He turned his tense gaze to her, gripping her hand equally as hard. She had tears in her eyes, but a fierce look on her face. "Your cousin, your niece…your _sister_…how could you betray them like this?"

For a moment, Arthur thought Molly's words had struck a chord in the proud woman standing in front of them. But just as quickly, a veil dropped over her eyes, and she drew herself up. _Of the most noble and ancient house of Black_, rang through Arthur's mind and left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"My only loyalties lie with my husband and my son." She straightened the cloak hanging on her shoulders and gave them a piercing glare. "And nothing will get in my way when it comes to their safety."

And as she had appeared out of the darkness she disappeared back into it, keeping to the shadows, no hesitation in her step.

Arthur stood there for a second, still staring in the direction Narcissa had just been. Then he moved to put his wand away and felt a tremor run through Molly.

"I believe her, Arthur." He understood what she meant. "We're really not all that different, she and I. In that way…."

Arthur wrapped his arms around her, letting his pounding heart slow down, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Let's go home, Mollywobbles."


	3. Restless

Ron sighed loudly and punched his pillow, trying to get comfortable in the bed. It didn't work. So he flipped over onto his right side, facing away from Hermione now. Another sigh. Maybe he was too hot—the covers came off, falling into a crumpled pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. That wasn't it either…. Ron crawled to the end of the bed, mumbling under his breath, and grabbed the sheets and accompanying quilt with both hands before flinging himself back into a prone position. Sigh.

"RONALD!"

Ron slowly peeked his eyes and nose out from under the sheet and blinked owlishly at Hermione.

"Yes?" His voice sounded too high-pitched for his liking.

Hermione sat up in the bed and turned, fixing him with a glare that would have done McGonagall proud. (Or Minerva, as she had asked him to call her now that his daughter was a Hogwarts student and she and Hermione had grown closer, but damn if he didn't expect to get a detention every time he even thought of her Christian name) One of the straps on her pyjama top had slid down over one shoulder, and her hair _somehow_ already had that wild look to it that Ron usually woke to in the mornings. His face flushed slightly and he smirked. Well…maybe he did know how it had already achieved that look. Another look at Hermione's face, however, wiped the grin right off his own. The overall effect of her appearance was quite impressive, Ron had to admit, and he had the good sense to look suitably ashamed.

"What in the name of Merlin do you think you are doing?" Her voice was deadly calm, almost a whisper so he had to pay close attention to hear her—something else she must have picked up from Minerva. And his mum.

Ron swallowed hard.

"What, exactly, is wrong with you?"

"N-n…." He cleared his throat. "Nothing." That was better.

"Then can you please explain to me why I seem to be sleeping…WITH A BLOODY GREAT HIPPOGRIFF!"

He almost ducked back under the covers then but caught himself and remembered that he had, indeed, been an Auror for quite some time. He'd faced worse. Surely. He sat up in the bed, leaning against the headboard, and started fiddling with the sheets in his lap. Had they always been that shade of blue?

"Well?" Hermione crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow as if to say, "This had better be good."

"I suppose…I mean I guess…I guess I'm…" Ron quickly mumbled the rest of his explanation and looked up at Hermione finally, not quite sure what sort of reaction to expect from her.

She had uncrossed her arms, and she looked dumbfounded, the hostile posture and wild look in her eye gone. Whatever he may have expected, this had not been it.

"What on earth?"

"What?" he asked, beginning to feel defensive.

"I couldn't understand a word you just said, Ronald, don't snap at me." She sounded rather like she did when she scolded Hugo for tracking mud through the house for the hundredth time.

"Oh." Ron deflated a bit. He took a deep breath and tried again. "I said I guess I'm restless 'cause I can't stop thinking about Al getting sorted into Slytherin."

"Oh _please_ don't start on that again. I thought after tonight—"

"No," Ron cut in firmly. "It's not like that. Not right now anyway." He grimaced and rolled his shoulders, shrugging off his other thoughts for the moment. "I know I didn't react…_well_, exactly, when Neville told us, but it's a different feeling now somehow." He really wanted Hermione to understand. He wasn't sure _he_ did. "I think I'm—"

"You're actually worried about him," Hermione interrupted, stunned.

"Now, Hermione, I wouldn't—"

"No really, you still might be acting like a troll about Slytherins, but you actually sound worried about Albus!" She smiled at him in understanding and with something that almost looked like pride.

Ron felt like he should take offense to the troll remark and was about to say so when she suddenly turned to sit beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder, hugging his arm. Now it was his turn to be shocked. He looked down at the top of her head bemusedly and asked, "Well since you seem to know what I'm thinking, do you think you could let me in?"

"It seems to me that you are worried that Albus will have a tough time being in Slytherin or that the others won't accept him. Or even that his cousins might start treating him differently."

"He _is_ still family..." Ron trailed off, remembering his own reaction to the news. Remembering how he'd treated Percy during the war. Remembering Fred.

"I'm worried, too," Hermione admitted softly, bringing Ron back to their bedroom. "But honestly," she laughed quietly, "Albus _is_ a Potter, with Ginny as his mum, no less. I'm sure he'll be alright."

Ron nodded his head, now leaning on Hermione's. She really did always know it all, he smirked fondly.

They sat like that for a few minutes, and Ron could feel the pull of sleep that had been eluding him. He was about to nod off when something occurred to him.

" 'Mione…" he mumbled sleepily.

"Hmmmm…?"

"Bet Malfoy's kid's in Slytherin too…. can't wait for Al to put the li'l prat in 'is place."

"Too far, Ronald…."


End file.
